Silent Witness
by Firebird9
Summary: The actions of Gabriel Weaver's grandfather have taken their toll on his grandson's life. What does he know, and how? And why is he so willing to risk himself and his friends to help Nicholas Angel?


**Silent Witness**

**Author: **Firebird

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** Neither Hot Fuzz nor its characters, settings etc. belong to me.

**Author's Note:** Here's another Hot Fuzz fic, while the creative juices are flowing. As I've never seen the two-disk version of Hot Fuzz I've no idea what the sub-plot with Gabriel and the hoodies was, so I came up with this.

**

When Gabriel Weaver was four, his mother's friend Karen disappeared. Gabriel had always rather liked Aunty Karen, who was different from the other grown-ups he knew. For one thing, she wore long, flowing skirts in bright colours and lots of bangles that jangled when she made sweeping gestures with her arms, which she did quite a lot, while most of the women in the village wore plain, sensible clothes and tended not to fling their arms about wildly when they talked. For another, she lived in an interesting house with lots of animals, and her house always smelt of smoke and flowers. She ate different food, too. At four years old, Gabriel would really have preferred Hob-Nobs or Jaffa cakes and fizzy to the home-made biscuits and fresh milk which she gave him when they visited, but he ate the biscuits and drank the milk without complaint because he liked Aunty Karen and didn't want to hurt her feelings. After they had had afternoon tea, Aunty Karen would play a funny card game with his mummy, with strange cards that had odd pictures on them. There was one of a man hanging in a tree, and a skeleton in a black robe, and a whole bunch with swords. There were others too, of course, but later Gabriel would remember those ones in particular because those kinds of pictures impress four-year-old boys. Gabriel got the impression that lots of ladies from the village liked to play the funny game with Aunty Karen, which was strange because it didn't seem to be nearly as much fun as snap, which Gabriel had learned from his grandfather and was getting quite good at. They just made silly patterns with the cards, and then Aunty Karen would talk a lot and mummy would say things like 'really?' and 'oh' and 'fancy that', and it didn't seem like much of a game at all. And then they would go home, and for some reason when daddy asked mummy what they had done that day she never seemed to mention Aunty Karen or the funny card game, and Gabriel got the impression that he shouldn't, either.

And then one day Aunty Karen had gone away, and mummy had cried and cried. Gabriel hadn't really understood that. He had been sad when his friend Jeremy moved all the way to Buford Abbey, but he had been really brave and cried hardly at all, and they still visited Jeremy sometimes, and he had even gone to Jeremy's birthday party and given him a toy fire engine with a little red light and a real siren. He had tried to tell mummy that she shouldn't cry, that they could go and visit Aunty Karen just like they did Jeremy, but that hadn't seemed to work, and he had somehow gathered from the conversations that went on over his head that mummy didn't know where Aunty Karen had gone and she was worried about her because... well, Gabriel wasn't really sure why, but he remembered his granddad coming round that night when he was supposed to be in bed, only he was sitting on the stairs listening because he was worried about mummy and how else was he supposed to find out what was going on? And granddad had said 'don't worry, Emily, you know how it is with these hippie types, they're not like us. They're different, irresponsible.'

And mummy had said 'you don't know what you're talking about.' And granddad had said 'no, Emily, I know exactly what I'm talking about and you need to let this go.' And mummy had said 'let this go? I should call the police, is what I should do. She's a missing person, isn't she?' And then granddad had used a voice that Gabriel hadn't heard before, and it had been a scary voice that didn't sound like his granddad at all, and his granddad had said in that scary voice 'Emily. You need to let this go.' And his mummy had said 'oh God' in a voice that was almost a sob, and daddy had said in a more normal voice 'Dad's right, Emily. Just leave well enough alone.'

After that, mummy hadn't talked about Aunty Karen much, but Gabriel knew that she still thought about her sometimes because there was a framed photograph of the three of them – mummy and Gabriel and Aunty Karen – on a shelf in the living-room, and every now and then for years and years he would come in and see mummy looking at it with a strange expression on her face, and he would remember...

**

Gabriel was seven the next time he heard his granddad use the Scary Voice. By that time he had almost forgotten about it, convinced that it was just a bad dream, because his granddad wasn't scary at all, even if he had a gun and went shooting in the woods sometimes. He had promised Gabriel that when he was older he would take him shooting, too. His mother had pursed her lips at that, and said 'we'll see' in a voice that meant she probably wouldn't let him, but his dad had said 'go on, Emily' in a voice that mean he probably would.

His granddad had been driving him and his mum back home after they had had afternoon tea with him, because it was a bit late and they needed to be home in time to make dinner for dad. They had been driving past the new supermarket, and there had been some teenagers outside. They had skateboards and were doing tricks, and Gabriel's eyes had gone very wide and he had said 'cool' with all the hushed awe of a seven-year-old to whom fourteen is frightfully grown-up. His granddad had made a funny, disapproving noise in his throat, and mum had said 'go on, Tom, they're just kids out having a bit of fun.' 'They're a bloody menace' his grandfather had replied. But, even with the swear, that wasn't the scary voice.

The Scary Voice had come a couple of days later, when granddad was driving Gabriel back over to his house. It was just the two of them, and Gabriel was going to stay the whole night at his granddad's, which was very exciting and grown-up, and something he had only done a couple of times before. As they drove past the supermarket, Gabriel had sat up in his seat, leaning over in the hopes of catching another glimpse of the teenagers.

"They've gone," he said in a tone of real disappointment.

"Aye, and good riddance to them," his granddad had replied.

"But it looked like fun," Gabriel protested.

And his granddad had stopped the car, right there on the side of the road, and he had leaned across to his grandson and said, in the Scary Voice, "now you listen to me, young Gabriel. No good comes of young people behaving like that, no good at all. They've got no respect for their elders and betters, and people like that always come to a bad end. Don't ever let me catch you behaving like that, do you understand?"

Gabriel had been too frightened to do more than nod.

His granddad seemed to have forgotten all about the youths by the time they reached his house, and had urged his grandson in a friendly manner to go off and play while he fixed them a bite to eat. Gabriel had gone running out to the scullery, which opened onto the back garden, but had frozen in horror. There were blood-stained clothes in the sink, and several large knives and a hammer, clean but obviously recently used, lying on the sideboard. He must have cried out, because suddenly his granddad was there, laying a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped.

"I shot a couple of rabbits," his granddad said, "that's all." And Gabriel had nodded again, because it was all he could do, but deep in his mind a little voice had been going 'liar!' The clothes weren't his grandfather's and that blood hadn't come from rabbits, there was way too much of it for that, it had come from... from... But Gabriel told that thought to shut up and go away, because this was his granddad he was thinking about, and his granddad wasn't... he wouldn't kill people and cut them up, he wasn't a... No, it was impossible.

**

At school, they were always told how lucky they were to live in Sandford. Sandford was a Community That Cared. Sandford was a safe place, where children could play on the street, provided of course that they were careful, and respectful of adults, and remembered that there were plenty of parks where they could play ball-games, thank-you-very-much. They were lucky, they were told, not to live in a big city where there were murders every other day and everyone lived in fear. Sandford was a safe place, a happy place, and if maybe the children sensed, with those finely-tuned instincts that time and age would someday dull, that perhaps it wasn't so safe after all, well, kids were always imagining things, weren't they? Monsters under the bed and wolves in the woods, and My! What big teeth you have, granddad.

Inspector Butterman would come and talk to them sometimes, about Civic Responsibility and The Greater Good, and how Policemen Are Your Friends. He would let the children try on his helmet, and call them 'fine wee fellows' and 'lovely little lasses', and somehow he always creeped Gabriel out. When Gabriel was twelve, he put his hand up during a visit and asked Inspector Butterman just what it was that made Sandford so safe. Inspector Butterman had replied that it was the fine men – and women, he had added with a patronising smile to the new Constable Thatcher, who had joined them for the first time that day – of the Sandford Police Force.

"If that's true," Gabriel had replied, "then how come you never managed to find my Aunty Karen?" His mum had been staring at the picture again when he got home from school the day before, so she was on his mind at the time.

Inspector Butterman had gotten a strange look on his face, almost like he was angry with Gabriel, or trying to figure out something about him. "Sometimes, young Gabriel, people just disappear. Sandford doesn't suit everyone, you know. Sometimes people just up and leave. Here one day and gone the next. I expect that's what your Aunty Karen did." By the time he finished the familiar smile was back on his face, and Gabriel wondered if he'd just imagined that angry look. But his mum was still upset, even after all this time, and so he had pressed on.

"And that's it? They never write, they never phone? They must know people are worried about them."

At that point, Inspector Butterman had laughed, looking over the children's heads to their teacher. "I think this fine wee fellow might be thinking of a career in the Police Force," he had told her in that annoyingly condescending manner that adults had sometimes, and he had begun to wrap up his visit. Gabriel's heart had been pounding. At twelve years old he knew adult evasiveness when he saw it.

'_He's avoiding my question,'_ he thought, head down. _'Why?'_

It was a skinny girl whom he knew only vaguely – just enough to know that her name was Libby – who sidled up to him in the playground as he was hanging around after school, and gave him the first part of the answer.

"My cousin vanished," she told him, without preamble.

"Huh?"

"What you were asking Inspector Butterman about before. When he said sometimes people just disappear. My cousin vanished. Last summer."

She was not the only one, he soon discovered. One by one, furtively, fearfully, more of his school-mates came to him, all telling the same story.

"My uncle vanished."

"My neighbour."

"My big sister."

Then others started talking about the accidents, and Gabriel began to realise that something very strange was going on. Either that, or the people of Sandford were, in fact, very _un_lucky. And very clumsy. And very bad drivers.

**

By the time school broke up for the summer there were nearly a dozen of them, a loose confederation of children all confused and bereaved and harbouring a vague suspicion that, beneath its picture-perfect Village of the Year exterior, their little town was hiding a dark and sinister secret.

**

School started back in the autumn, and life continued on more or less as normal. Gabriel and his friends formed an informal clique, which the other kids identified as different and, with a typical schoolchild's disdain for anything which might mark one out as 'weird', avoided like the plague. But every now and again someone would introduce a new friend to Gabriel, usually whispering something along the lines of "They say her brother ran away," or "His neighbour fell off a ladder and died last week."

They adopted hoodies, mainly because the respectable adults of the community, whom they now universally distrusted, disapproved of them. They wore them under their school blazers in spite of the heat and repeated requests from the teachers that they cease to do so. They hung around together, whispering of safety in numbers, and watched.

Mum didn't understand. Dad tried to talk to him. Granddad uttered dire threats about the sorts of things that happened to 'disrespectful young louts' and urged his father to 'straighten him out with a good hiding, before someone else gives him worse.' Gabriel began to hate his grandfather, to hate him more because, deep down inside, he still loved him and felt a gut-wrenching sense of betrayal at the knowledge that his grandfather was part of... Well, that was the problem. He wasn't really sure. Loiter as they might, watch as they would, there wasn't really much they could find out, or much they could do. Gabriel was convinced that, whatever sinister plots might be bubbling away in Sandford, Inspector Butterman was almost certainly a part of them, so there was no point in trying to tell the police. The rest of the 'Hoodie Brigade', as the other kids mockingly called them, were similarly convinced. And even if that weren't the case, what could they have told anyone? That they knew a few people who had run away from home and that no-one had ever heard from again? That they were worried about all the accidents that happened in their village?

And then Sergeant Popwell had come to town.

"Jewish," his grandfather had muttered darkly. "Has to be, with that bloody great beard. We don't need his kind around here. Nosey, too, stickin' that great big nose into where it doesn't belong."

Gabriel had had a Very Bad Feeling about that, bad enough that he had considered going to the sergeant and telling him the whole thing, begging him to do something, or at least to leave before it was too late. Afterwards, when the sergeant 'left' Sandford suddenly, supposedly because of a 'nervous breakdown' ("Here? You must be joking!" Sam, one of the Hoodie Brigade, had remarked), Gabriel had wondered whether it would have made a difference if he had said something.

**

When the new-new sergeant came to town the Hoodie Brigade had watched him warily. This one seemed to be all-white, which was a relief to Gabriel, who knew that all-white would be all-right by his grandfather, and would therefore hopefully prevent another small-scale replay of the Holocaust (Gabriel couldn't _prove_ that Sergeant Popwell had been murdered, of course, or that it had been racially motivated, but he knew bloody well that he had been and it was). He also radiated his own scary aura, he noticed when the sergeant came to talk to them at school, but it was somehow different from Inspector Butterman's. There was no deceit in Sergeant Angel's aura. 'Play by the rules,' the Sergeant communicated silently, 'obey the Law, and we won't have a problem. But step out of line, even so much as a toe, and you will have me to deal with, because I _am_ the Law, and I will not tolerate any wrongdoing, either by you, or by anyone else, including myself.'

As with Sergeant Popwell, Gabriel had considered trying to talk to Sergeant Angel, but for very different reasons. If anyone could take on Inspector Butterman and his grandfather, it was Sergeant Angel, with his piercing gaze and scary aura. But Sergeant Angel wasn't interested in chatting to a bunch of schoolkids. He wouldn't even let Libby wear his hat when Mr. Messenger asked, or handcuff the teacher. Actually, Gabriel would have quite liked to see that, because Teach had assigned them all double English homework that day, and Gabriel really wasn't in the mood to spend his evening reading bloody Shakespeare again, even if it was Hamlet and had ghosts and swordfights and murder. Why couldn't the guy write in proper English, for crying out loud? His mum was in the Amdram's Romeo and Juliet, and he was sick of 'thee's' and 'thou's', and jokes that he knew were dirty if he could only work out what they meant, and stupid, stupid iambic pentameter.

Ah, yes, Romeo and Juliet. Funny, what had happened to Mr. Blower and Miss Draper. Funny that they should both be decapitated like that. In another 'accident'. Yeah, right. And Mr. Merchant's house blowing up? And poor Mr. Messenger at the village fete? That had been especially traumatic, Gabriel had been right there and had actually _seen_ Mr. Messenger, who was a bit of a loser but was still _someone he knew_, lying on the ground with his head all smashed in. Bloody, bloody accidents, in every sense of the word. But that day at the fete had given Gabriel hope. Because Sergeant Angel had _insisted_ that Mr. Messenger's death was suspicious, and had _made_ Inspector Butterman and the other policemen (and WPC Thatcher) listen to him. Gabriel had pulled his hoodie up around his ears as the storm-clouds rolled in, and hunched up by the wall with a few other members of the Hoodie Brigade to watch until Constable Walker ambled up with Saxon and told them, in his near-incomprehensible mumble, to get a move on.

The next day, Sunday, dawned bright and sunny. On the surface, it was just another day in the peaceful and picturesque village, albeit one marred by yet another tragic death, but to Gabriel and the Hoodie Brigade, finely attuned as they were to the subtle undercurrents of their community, the atmosphere was heavy with foreboding, like the air before a summer storm. They gathered, as they often did, along the side of one of the roads leading into the centre of the village. It was a position slightly less noticeable than the fountain, from which they were often moved along, but one which still afforded a view of the village square. No-one said much. Gabriel hadn't been the only one to witness Mr. Messenger's death, and no-one was keen to start a conversation which might lead to it. Towards the middle of the afternoon they saw a patrol-car go past, obviously in a hurry, followed a short while later by another. Curious, and with nothing better to do with their time, they wandered in the general direction in which the car had been headed, and so were some of the first people in the village to learn of Leslie Tiller's death. Edging close enough to eavesdrop, Gabriel quickly established that Sergeant Angel believed it to be murder – had, in fact, _witnessed_ the murder – but that his colleagues were unwilling to listen to him. Sergeant Angel had an expression on his face and a tension in his voice similar to the one Gabriel's mother sometimes wore when she was, in her words, 'down to my last nerve,' and Gabriel sensed that, come what may, the storm would break very soon.

And then the next day came and, once again, they met on the wall to the side of the square. They should have been headed for school, really, but none of them could shake the feeling of unease which still pervaded the village. Several of the Hoodies reported hearing noises in the night: shouting and running feet, and cars driving around at a time when the village was normally silent. Libby wondered aloud why no-one had yet come to move them along. They would likely be late for school if they didn't get moving, and normally someone would have said something by now, but the sour-faced old busy-bodies who usually made it their business to remind the Hoodies of their near-criminal status seemed preoccupied, and the Hoodies settled down to enjoy their unexpected holiday, for however long it might last.

And then they had seen HIM.

The sound of horse-hooves on the cobbles had drawn their attention, and Sergeant Angel had ridden up on one on Mr. Reaper's fine white horses. He looked like something out of a movie, a battle-god riding to war, and the Hoodies had stared in silent awe. This, Gabriel realised, was It. The moment he had been waiting for his entire life. The storm had broken, and Aunty Karen was about to be avenged.

And then Sergeant Angel had reined in his horse and gazed down at them.

"Hey? Want to do something useful?"

Still dumbstruck, they could only nod mutely, and he had thrown a zipped-up bag to Gabriel. Opening it, he had discovered a number of spray-cans inside. He had looked back up at the Sergeant, and the police officer answered his silent question.

"Take out the CCTV cameras. Then meet me in the square: I may need you. But stay low and be careful: there's likely to be some shooting."

"And what are you going to do?" Gabriel asked, wide-eyed and breathless as a little kid.

Angel looked up, gazing towards the village square, a determined expression on his face. "I'm going to make this village safe again."

With that, the avenging Angel had ridden away, leaving the heavy bag in Gabriel's arms.

"Okay you lot, you heard what the man said. Let's get on with it."

They had each grabbed a can and spread out. Between them they had long since cased the village and knew the whereabouts of every inescapable camera. Gabriel appreciated Sergeant Angel's thinking: the lack of CCTV cover would make it impossible for his grandfather and Inspector Butterman to determine Sergeant Angel's position from afar, placing them on a more even footing.

He had heard the first gunshots as he was legging it back to the square, having taken care of the camera by the remains of Mr. Merchant's house. He had slowed, peering cautiously around a corner. Most of the Hoodies were already there, sheltering behind a car parked outside Miss Roper's shop. He ran to join them, dropping to his knees next to Sam.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded, unable to believe what he had just seen. Sergeant Angel seemed to be involved in a shoot-out with half the village.

"Don't know," Sam replied in a loud voice. "Molly says she saw Mr. Treacher pull out a shotgun, then everyone started shooting."

At that moment there was the sound of breaking glass above them, and Miss Roper – _Miss Roper!_ – stuck her head out of the window and began to shoot at Sergeant Angel. Gabriel immediately recognised just how much danger this was placing the sergeant in. Evidently so did the sergeant, because he whistled sharply to attract their attention and, when they looked his way, waved them towards the shop. Of course! They couldn't do much out in the square – in fact they were in danger of becoming casualties, collateral damage due to the cross-fire – but there were enough of them that they could deal with one old lady, even if she did have a gun.

The motion sensor on the door beeped maniacally as, in gleeful violation of the 'one school-child only' policy, the entire Hoodie Brigade piled into Miss Roper's shop. Gabriel led the way, charging around the counter and up the stairs to the first floor.

Miss Roper was at the window, sufficiently deafened by her gun that she didn't hear the pounding of their feet. Gabriel tackled her around the waist and pulled her backward away from the window, gun waving wildly in the air.

"Get the gun, get the gun," he yelled frantically, and Libby was on Miss Roper like a terrier, grabbing her arm with two thin hands and sinking her teeth into her wrist. Miss Roper screamed and loosed her hold on the weapon, which dropped to the floor. "Grab it!" Gabriel yelled.

For a moment the Hoodies hesitated. Most of them had never handled a gun before and were reluctant to do so now, but Jimmy, who sometimes went hunting with his uncle, stepped forward and picked it up, keeping the barrel pointed firmly at the floor. He clicked on the safety, then unloaded the weapon.

"You horrible little vermin!" Miss Roper screamed. "You all belong in Borstal, you do, attacking respectable people in their own shops!"

"Find something to tie her up with," Gabriel instructed.

"I'll do it," Molly volunteered, pulling the tie from the curtain. She grinned nastily at Miss Roper, who had refused to serve her ever since she had broken the 'one child' rule by refusing to wait outside in the rain while Miss Roper served another student. "I'm in the Girl Guides. We did knots just last week."

"Be Prepared," Sam quipped with a grin.

"Just shut up and get her tied up," Gabriel told them tightly. He, Libby, Ethan and Jack were between them still hanging onto Miss Roper, but Gabriel was worried that she might twist loose and try to get away, or else grab the gun. "Jimmy, chuck that gun out the window," he suggested. Jimmy jumped slightly, having apparently forgotten what he was holding, and complied hurriedly.

With Miss Roper firmly tied to a chair, and gagged after she kept screaming about 'Borstal' and 'getting what's coming to you', Gabriel took Jimmy and Libby and slipped downstairs. He peered around the door and saw a number of bodies lying all over the square. For a moment he felt nauseous, both at the sight and at the thought that Sergeant Angel might have betrayed them and turned out to be no better than his grandfather and Inspector Butterman after all. Then he heard one of the bodies groan and saw another try to sit up, and realised that they were just injured after all.

There was the sound of shooting from The Crown, but Gabriel put out his arm to signal to Jimmy and Libby that they should stay put. They had taken out the CCTV cameras and Miss Roper, but he knew that they were well out of their depths now. This was adult business, and Gabriel was painfully aware as he looked around him that he was just a schoolboy. He was also remembering the bloodied clothes and suspiciously large knives in his grandfather's scullery all those years ago. Let one of the adults now lying on the ground regain consciousness and he had no doubt that the Hoodies would be in danger of ending up as hostages, or worse.

"What do we do now?" Libby asked.

"We stay put," Gabriel replied. "Sergeant Angel wouldn't want up to put ourselves in danger. Besides," he added as he heard sirens, "I think that's the police."

"Yeah, but whose side are they on?" Jimmy wondered.

The rest of the Hoodies came downstairs at that moment. Gabriel glared at them, but Molly held up a key. "Locked her in," she explained simply. She laid the key on the counter and joined the rest by the doorway. They flinched back as first Inspector Butterman and then the rest of the Sandford Police bailed out of The Crown at speed, but no-one even glanced in their direction.

Time passed. It was boring in the shop. They watched Constable Walker and Saxon round up the various members of the community sprawled across the cobbles. After a little while, one of the Sergeants Turner arrived in the paddy wagon and began to help him. He parked by The Crown and worked his way across the square, eventually ending up by the shop. He started when he saw the Hoodies skulking in the doorway.

"Oh, hello," he exclaimed. "What are you lot doin' in there then? Miss Roper won't be too happy, all of you in her shop at once." He chuckled a bit.

"She's tied up upstairs," Gabriel informed him.

Sergeant Turner blinked. "Really?"

"She was shooting at Sergeant Angel."

"Oh. Well, in that case I guess I'd better go and get her then."

"You'll need this," Molly told him, picking the key up from the counter.

"Hehe, remind me never to get you lot mad at me," Sergeant Turner said nervously.

At that moment there was the sound of running feet, revving engines and shouting, and two police cars went screaming out of town towards the model village. Before he knew what he was doing Gabriel was yelling at the others to follow him and was racing up the road after them.

They arrived to find the model village in ruins, two steaming and somewhat crumpled police cars lying in the field, and more police officers than any of them had ever seen before in their lives. Seeing Inspector Butterman being shut in a police-van and creepy Mr. Skinner being taken to hospital with a fantastically gross injury had been like the first thin rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds. They had giggled like little kids from sheer relief, some of them pulling out the mobile phones that barely worked in Sandford and using them to photograph the sight. No-one was telling them that they should be at school. Sergeant Angel and Constable Butterman were talking to some strange policemen whom Gabriel didn't recognise. And then Sergeant Angel stood up and dropped his blanket and walked towards them.

The sergeant looked like an action hero at the end of the movie. He was dirty, limping and bloody, and Gabriel realised he'd been shot in the arm. There didn't seem to be too much blood though, and he was using the arm just fine, so he figured the injury couldn't be too bad.

"Thank you," he nodded to the Hoodies. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Thank _you_," Gabriel replied. "No-one else is going to disappear, are they?"

The sergeant smiled, and Gabriel realised that this was the first time he'd seen him do that. "Not if I can help it." He reached out and tousled Gabriel's hair, something which he usually hated, but for some reason he was pleased that Sergeant Angel had noticed him, had singled him out for the attention. "I owe you guys," he told him. "I can't make any promises, but if there's something I can do for you, to say thank you...?"

An image rose up in Gabriel's mind, something from years ago, three teenagers right about the age he was now, doing flips and tricks on their skateboards in the car-park of the supermarket because there was nowhere else to go. "Could we have a skate-park?" he asked hopefully.

Sergeant Angel chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

The sun came out.


End file.
